Bill Hand: North Carolinians in the Battle of Gettysburg

By Bill Hand, Sun Journal Staff

Published: Sunday, June 30, 2013 at 06:30 PM.

If you want to celebrate three days of wallowing in blood, you can’t do better than the Battle of Gettysburg, the bloodiest single fight (though not single day) of the Civil War. And today is the 150th anniversary of that epic fight.

That battle has been studied and fought and shouted about ever since its conclusion a day before the Fourth. I remember how my father would actually dance along the edge of a rage as he declaimed about how Longstreet and Stuart lost that fight. And I’ve read “Killer Angels,” which venerated Longstreet and laid the blame squarely on the shoulders of a pleasant but incompetent Robert E. Lee. (Michael Shaara said that, folks, not me, so no mail bombs to my address, please.)

While it was fought in a hamlet in Pennsylvania, there were plenty of North Carolina boys taking part. The Second Army Corps under Gen. Richard Ewell included the Second North Carolina regiment, which included at least three companies packed with young men from Craven, Jones and Carteret counties.

According to a history of North Carolina regiments, the Second participated early in the battle, marching into Gettysburg on July 1 and later that day occupying Oak Hill, “breaking the enemy’s line and throwing him into confusion.” Skirmishers from the brigade captured a Pennsylvania battle flag. The second day, they were in the somewhat less successful attack on Cemetery Hill.

The most famous North Carolina regiment in that fight was the 26th North Carolina, commanded by the “boy general,” Col. Henry King Burgwyn. That regiment went into the battle as the largest in the two armies, at 843 men. Of those, 588 would become casualties on the first day. At the end of the battle, they would stand at only 30 percent of their original strength.

Burgwyn was not a New Bern boy. In fact, by birth he wasn’t even North Carolinian, having been born in that Yankee-ist of all lands, Massachusetts. He grew up in Northampton County, which is wedged up against the Virginia line in eastern North Carolina, and early on found himself as a very young (20) ranking officer with the 26th. He quickly built up a reputation as an inspiring competitor and trainer of men.

His regiment arrived in time for the Battle of New Bern — a battle he felt should never have happened, since he quickly judged the town to be undefendable. His regiment, then under Col. Zebulon Vance, would be the last to retreat at the battle — mainly because of miscommunication. The regiment, defending the right flank, was unaware that everyone else had fled the field and they, themselves, got away — as Job or Thornton Wilder might put it — by the skin of their teeth. Vance decided it would be better to become a wartime governor than fight, so he left the regiment and Burgwyn took over.

If you want to celebrate three days of wallowing in blood, you can’t do better than the Battle of Gettysburg, the bloodiest single fight (though not single day) of the Civil War. And today is the 150th anniversary of that epic fight.

That battle has been studied and fought and shouted about ever since its conclusion a day before the Fourth. I remember how my father would actually dance along the edge of a rage as he declaimed about how Longstreet and Stuart lost that fight. And I’ve read “Killer Angels,” which venerated Longstreet and laid the blame squarely on the shoulders of a pleasant but incompetent Robert E. Lee. (Michael Shaara said that, folks, not me, so no mail bombs to my address, please.)

While it was fought in a hamlet in Pennsylvania, there were plenty of North Carolina boys taking part. The Second Army Corps under Gen. Richard Ewell included the Second North Carolina regiment, which included at least three companies packed with young men from Craven, Jones and Carteret counties.

According to a history of North Carolina regiments, the Second participated early in the battle, marching into Gettysburg on July 1 and later that day occupying Oak Hill, “breaking the enemy’s line and throwing him into confusion.” Skirmishers from the brigade captured a Pennsylvania battle flag. The second day, they were in the somewhat less successful attack on Cemetery Hill.

The most famous North Carolina regiment in that fight was the 26th North Carolina, commanded by the “boy general,” Col. Henry King Burgwyn. That regiment went into the battle as the largest in the two armies, at 843 men. Of those, 588 would become casualties on the first day. At the end of the battle, they would stand at only 30 percent of their original strength.

Burgwyn was not a New Bern boy. In fact, by birth he wasn’t even North Carolinian, having been born in that Yankee-ist of all lands, Massachusetts. He grew up in Northampton County, which is wedged up against the Virginia line in eastern North Carolina, and early on found himself as a very young (20) ranking officer with the 26th. He quickly built up a reputation as an inspiring competitor and trainer of men.

His regiment arrived in time for the Battle of New Bern — a battle he felt should never have happened, since he quickly judged the town to be undefendable. His regiment, then under Col. Zebulon Vance, would be the last to retreat at the battle — mainly because of miscommunication. The regiment, defending the right flank, was unaware that everyone else had fled the field and they, themselves, got away — as Job or Thornton Wilder might put it — by the skin of their teeth. Vance decided it would be better to become a wartime governor than fight, so he left the regiment and Burgwyn took over.

Between the March 1862 battle and July 1, 1863, the 26th blah-blah-blah, as my daughter Rachel would explain it. It would take more than one column to describe the 26th’s actions in the fight, so let’s jump to Henry’s end.

The fighting took place at Willoughby’s Run, where the 26th matched guns and savvy with an equally tough Yankee regiment, the 24th Michigan — the “Iron Brigade.” The opening moments weren’t too bad on Burgwyn’s soldiers, but it was murder on his color-bearers. Ten of them went down in rapid succession. In those days, the color-bearer was the guy who carried the regimental flag, and he was pretty much a sitting duck: unable to fire and carrying a cumbersome stick with a colorful sheet tied on. All he could do was shout and wave and be a really tempting target.

Once they were within 40 yards of the Michiganders, the Union men opened fire and slaughtered dozens of the Confederates. The 26th pushed on and, with the help of superior numbers, managed to push the 24th back.

Eventually the regiments were lined up at point-blank range, firing minié balls into each other.

The flag fell, and Burgwyn stooped to pick it up, yelling encouragement as he did. He turned to hand the flag to a private and was shot in the chest. (The private was shot in the head.)

The 26th took devastating losses, but they inflicted horrific damage on the Iron Brigade as well. Three hundred and sixty-three of its 496 soldiers would be shot or captured. The 26th, under Lt. Col. J. R. Lane, who would also die in the advance, would carry that part of the field.

As for Burgwyn, he died two days later and was buried in an empty gun case in enemy land. Fred A. Olds, one of his soldiers who saw his death would later recall, “I never saw a braver man than he.”